


put up that tree before my spirit falls again!

by hepsybeth



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (I love that tag!), (well. less 'crisis' and more 'figuring things out', Child Neglect, Christmas In July | Christmas Out Of Season, Dustin Henderson Is the Best, Friends to Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Getting Back Together, Good Friend Robin Buckley, Good Friend Tommy Hagan, POV Minor Character, PTSD (minor), Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Possibly OOC?, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Sexuality Crisis, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Surprise Party, Winter, also. since when is Tommy's last name 'Hagan'? when did that happen?, the Byers are Jewish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hepsybeth/pseuds/hepsybeth
Summary: He would never admit it outloud (and hated admitting it internally), but he really missed Steve.(or: Chester Rushing, the number one Tommy H/Steve Harrington stan, this is for you!)
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler (background), Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler (background), Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair (background), Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	put up that tree before my spirit falls again!

**Author's Note:**

> this is a Christmas fic bc...i wrote half of it last December and i only finished it now? so, yeah. lol
> 
> having been part of a friendship breakup, i feel like not enough of those breakups are represented in the media. they suck. it really sucks losing a best friend. and as close as Steve and Tommy H and Carol appeared to be in season 1, it sucked never seeing that resolved). 
> 
> as regards to Tommy H, he's a minor character. so my city now! a lot of his personality is up to interpretation, but i didn't want him to be a one note 80s popular kid bully, bc neither was Steve (he contains multitudes). but i wanted to keep elements of his being an asshole. i don't think the dialogue really Hits since i have no beta :(. also, did anyone know Chester is half Nicaraguan? idk how twitter works, but there was a screenshot of him saying "Question, Since I am Mixed... was Tommy H. Like The only Hispanic person living in Hawkins season 1&2? Or are there others out here?!?! I need to know these things lol". since there's some Spanish (very little), pls lmk if the translation's off!
> 
> also, my personal opinion is that steve is bi as well, but it's the 80s and everyone takes their own time to find themselves, even now.
> 
> i also headcanon the byers as jewish, since winona is and noah is and that's already 2 out of 3.
> 
> and i wasn't born in the 80s, so suspend your disbelief for now
> 
> enjoy!

Tooth-rottingly sweet and sappy songs about heartbreak, in Tommy H’s opinion, gave too much credit to the falling out between long-devoted lovers and not nearly enough to the falling out between lifelong friends. It was all “I keep you picture upon the wall” and “how am I supposed to live without you” and so on, so forth, all sung with the expectation that the audience knew this was between some chick who shattered the poor guy’s heart, or vice versa. 

In Tommy H’s experience, romantic break-ups weren’t world-ending, gonna go drown myself in the bathtub and leave behind a note about how much I cared for you, sort of ordeals. They stung momentarily, for a couple of days at most, and then you were done. Onto bigger and better.

He was well-versed in these sorts of things. He had his first girlfriend in the 4th grade. It wasn’t structured and they were “going steady” for all of a week. Not a big deal. He had his first kiss with Harriet Edelman in the 6th grade and they dated until the month before movin’ on up to the 7th, quickly evolving into the kind of friendship that begins and ends with briefly waving at each other when passing the other person in the stuffy and crowded hallways of Hawkins Middle. Also, not a big deal. Beginning the month before 7th, he began his off and on relationship with Carol Perkins, breaking up and getting back together more times than he could count, alternating for months on end between being “just friends” and “more-than-friends”. If anything, the dramatic cadence of the latter was about as entertaining as things got in the sleepy Midwestern town. 

Formerly sleepy Midwestern town. It had gone, “tits up” as his late granny had once put it.

 _Jesus_. Anyways.

Ending a lovey-dovey thing was whatever. But when his friendship ended with one Steve “the Hair” Harrington, it was like. It was. It-

“Goddammit!” Tommy H cursed, furiously turning his car’s radio dial, interrupting Morrissey mid-moan. That was the last thing he needed. The sun was already halfway ducked under the horizon and it was snowing and the last thing he needed was to get himself stuck in another whiney funk. Fuck Morrissey.

He would never admit it outloud (and hated admitting it internally), but he really missed Steve.

Tommy H and Steve had been “attached at the hip”, as they say, since the first day of second grade, fall of ‘73. Steve had been dressed in clothes that had probably never seen a wrinkle in its entire post-factory life. Tommy H had been wearing a button-down shirt with two ugly bright orange pockets on the front that could probably glow in the dark. Steve had maybe a container’s worth of gel in his neatly combed hair (nevermind the cowlick that stubbornly stuck out the back). Tommy H had tried cutting his own hair with scissors the night before and his bangs were in a diagonal (his mother forced a cap on his head before he caught the bus because “ _¡Madre mía!_ Tomas, what were you _thinking?_ ”). Steve had looked nervous, standing alone in the middle of the room because every other kid was busy in one stupid conversation or the other with friends they had seen just yesterday. Tommy H already knew these kids, disliked about half of them, _hated_ one of the kids who made fun of freckles. He was plenty curious about the latest addition to Hawkins Elementary.

He had walked up to the shorter boy (the first and last year he’d ever be more than a few inches taller than Steve Harrington) and introduced himself as “Tommy H, how ya do?”. It had been a big fuss back in kindergarten, forever and ever ago, that there were far too many young boys named “Tommy”. (It was allegedly almost as bad as the infamous Case of the Maddies back in the mid ‘50s). There was Tom Anderson, Tomm Daly, Thomas Gilbert, Tom Sullivan, Tom Whittker. Then, there was Tomas Hagan right there in the middle. And, by God, they all demanded to go by “Tommy” and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Thus, from the first day of kindergarten on, they became known as Tommy A, Tommy D, Tommy G, Tommy H, Tommy S, and Tommy W. The compromise had become so widely and quickly accepted that Tommy H had even fallen victim to defaulting to “Tommy H” when asked what his name was, even outside of his hometown.

Steve Harrington had introduced himself as “Steve Harrington”, extending his hand with the expectation that Tommy H was going to shake it. Tommy H didn’t shake it, opting instead to ask Steve where he’d moved from. Steve explained that he had been living at home and he’d gotten lessons from his “oh pear”, but wouldn’t go on to explain what exactly fruit had to do with anything. 

In the middle of the room inside Mrs. Miller’s second grade classroom, Tommy H and Steve became best friends. They hadn’t had an inkling of an inkling that they’d become the most popular kids in high school, that, along with Carol in the third grade, they’d go on childhood adventures, coordinate their Halloween costumes, tryout for sports, skip school to go to the movies the next town over, and throw the dumbest parties. Or that it’d all end like it never happened at all.

Once upon a time, it was just Tommy H, Steve, and Carol against the world, all the while sticking together like glue. Or some cheesy phrase like that.

Then the Byers kid pulled a Lazarus and everything fell apart. So, that was over.

Making a careful turn onto Laney Street, taking him downtown, he briefly wondered if his dad had recovered the blue ornaments that the entire family had managed to misplace the year before. The Hagan house wasn’t large enough to lose a box that big.

It’s not like it was the Harrington household. All you needed was five minutes and nothing to do before you wound up losing your own shadow.

 _Nope_ , Tommy H chided himself, shaking his head. _Not gonna do that._ Because he was back home for the holidays, and only the holidays. He was here to spend time with his parents and his sister and Carol, maybe. Not mope around, all Steve Harrington this and Steve Harrington that. If he wanted to spend the holidays doing fuck all, that was his perogative.

The WBAT Indiana radio announcer interrupted his audience’s easy listening Christmas tunes playlist to remind them to dress warm ( _“Stay warm out there! That wind chill is gonna make that high 30s feel like the low 20s.”_ ) and the streetlights wrapped with Christmas lights (“Overkill,” Tommy H said when he first saw them) lined the streets, making the shoveled snow beneath them sparkle like glitter. 

Tommy H supposed he was more than a little biased. Northeastern Illinois (heck, all he’s seen of Chicago) had plenty of Christmas lights to go around. It had long since passed the line from pretty to blinding to blinking away after-images as soon as a guy entered a building. 

On second thought, maybe the simplicity of home was what he needed.

Then Tommy H snorted, making a left into the downtown square. As if “simple” and “Hawkins” had any business being in the same sentence these days.

He parked his ‘60 Vendo Plymouth into the lot outside the grocery store, Marnie’s Goods. The grocery store stood defiantly dark against the glistening array of Christmas lights and decorations that wrapped upon every other Hawkins establishment like Virginia Creeper (as his southern English prof liked to say, anyway). Marnie, everyone knew her because everyone knew everyone, didn’t care for Christmas festivities at all. Damn the lights, damn the carols, damn the annual Christmas parade. He, Steve, and Carol used to joke that the old lady was a bonafide Grinch. Or a Scrooge. Or that she had obviously killed someone.

He opened the door to his car, swallowing a curse as the biting wind blew into his face. With one hand tightening the scratchy wool scarf that wrapped around his neck and lower face, he used the other hand to turn the car off and lock the door behind him, and went over the list of groceries his mom wanted him to get (even though, for the life of him, he couldn’t make heads or tails of his mom’s demand that he get the groceries after driving home from college. He had been on the road for hours. She lived here. What was stopping her from leaving the damn house and getting her own damn groceries?)

But, if there was anything that Tommy H had learned growing up was this: there was no winning with his mom. Hell, look at the piece of shit green car he had. There was no arguing with the woman. It was either get the groceries or stay in Chicago and, as much as he loved Chicago, he was homesick. He had no idea why. But there it was. Turns out he didn’t have the gumption to fit in as a big city boy as he had liked to imagine back in high school. 

The snow crunched beneath his feet as he walked towards the store. Snowflakes fell onto his eyelashes and now his nose was running behind his scarf. He sniffed loudly as he opened the door to the grocery store, blinking his eyes against the bright fluorescent lights of the interior, the only lights that shone from the building. 

He needed milk, pie crust, canned pumpkin, marshmallows, nutmeg, and … and … the rest would come to him as he walked down the tight aisles. As he walked, the fallen snow on his shoes left converse-shaped puddles behind him.

Noticing the lady behind the counter, and wanting desperately to break the monotony of the day so far (because it seemed like _every damn person in Hawkins_ was busy doing their holiday merrymaking inside their homes. The streets were bare as fuck. The annual Christmas parade was canceled, the first time since ‘44.), Tommy H smiled and wished the fossil behind the counter a Merry Christmas while he got a basket.

The old woman glanced her eyes up momentarily before dropping them back down into the magazine she was busy with. Didn’t even rise to the bait. 

“What’cha got there, Scrooge?” Tommy H asked, taking a carton of eggnog out of the fridge and placing it in his basket. As he walked closer to the counter (all the while pocketing some snacks for himself), he noisily tossed additional ingredients off his list into the basket. “Oh, is that a tabloid? Who’s fuckin’ who?”

“Clam it, son,” Marnie said, because she didn’t subscribe to the standard of Tommy insert-last-initial. The old woman was so old, probably celebrated the turn of the century, that she called every young guy in Hawkins “son” and every young girl “hon” She was born when the world was young and the centuries she’d lived since probably supplied her brain with so much shit that she didn’t have any room to fit anything new inside. “It’s about the aliens.”

“About the what?” Tommy H asked, his loud footsteps and buzzing lights the only sounds inside the building. The ambience unnerved him. He placed the food items onto the counter before him. Clicking his tongue, remembering that he forgot the pie crust, he walked back. Doing so, he asked, “What, little green men kidnapped the president? Or the grey men? Men in black? Probed asses?”

Marnie scoffed, like Tommy H was the one being ridiculous, and turned the magazine so he could see the inside of it. Sure were aliens, alright. Little grey men this time. Unfortunately, no signs of asses being probed. There were, however, photos of the pre-graffitied Welcome to Hawkins sign and fireworks. 

Okay, the damn 4th of July again. 

“It wasn’t fucking aliens,” Tommy H said, frozen pie crust in hand. He flipped it over in one hand before placing it on the hard plastic counter. “My favorite theory is that devil worshippers killed everyone. Called upon Beezelbub and, well, you know the rest.” Not that that made any more sense, but at least it was interesting to think about. Devil worshippers. _Hah_. Tommy H couldn’t even say with certainty if he really, really believed in God, much less the Devil. He was a Catholic born into a family of Catholics, both devout and lapsed. He felt pretty comfortable saying “I don’t know” regarding the existence of demonic forces. 

His biggest fear about what had happened in Hawkins, however, was that the truth, whatever it may be, would out-gross even the most grotesque of theories. 

“I’ll be,” Marnie said, in apparent deep thought. Her curly grey looked nearly white underneath the yellow lights of the building. The lights were so bright, they desaturated the room. She looked sickly. 

And now Tommy H’s brain ventured ever nearer to the scene at the hospital he had learned about second-hand. And to think that he skipped out on the 4th celebrations because he was off getting high with Carol, so he knew even less than probably everyone else in Hawkins.

Well, “less” was subjective. He wasn’t there for the 4th, but Steve and his new pals weren’t exactly subtle about how involved they were in everything. Half of them couldn’t whisper.

“I didn’t say I believed it, Scrooge, just that it was my favorite theory.” It wasn’t even fun calling Marnie “Scrooge” if she wasn’t gonna snark back with a crack of her own. He pulled out an assortment of cash and coins and placed them on the counter which, he suddenly realized, was covered with similarly tabloidy magazines about the Hawkins Indiana Conspiracy. _They’re Here!_ read one, _What The Government Isn’t Saying_ read another. _Soviets In Our Backyard?_ read one more.

 _I guess who’s fucking who isn’t news anymore, huh?_ he thought to himself. After a long pause, he spoke again. “So, what?” Tommy H began, bagging and collecting his groceries. This was the quietest he’d ever seen Marnie. Hell, it was the first time he’d ever seen Marnie engrossed in a book. She was quick with sharp insults and had eyes on the back of her head. You couldn’t steal anything from her shop and she’d loudly call you out if you tried.

That was, if you weren’t Tommy H. He’d acquired enough gum and hard candies from the shop to put the rest of Hawkin’s wannabe-shoplifters to shame. They should build a statue of him.

“So?” Marnie was incredulous. “How else, but by UFO abduction, d’ya explain half the town disappearing on the 4th?”

“It wasn’t half,” Tommy H said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s all here,” Marnie said. She flipped to the last page, briefly browsing the selection of ads on the back. After a moment’s consideration, she handed Tommy H the glossy magazine. “I’m finished anyway.”

“Oh _no_ ,” Tommy H said in mock politeness, gathering his bags. “I _couldn’t_.”

“I insist. It’s all in there, what _they_ don’t want you to know.”

“Who’s _they_?” Tommy H asked, not interested in the magazine in the slightest. Whatever had happened on the 4th wouldn’t be broadcast on the nightly news, much less a handful of shitty tabloids accessible to the average dumbass. 

Tommy H wasn’t much of a conspiracy theory nut himself, but he had his inclinations. Notably, the headline that 30 people (no more, no less) died in the mall was a load of bull. It didn’t take a conspiracy nut to notice that there were more than 30 people who were missing from their headcount shortly after the 4th. He knew a few missing people himself. Georgeanna Mason, Abe Tanner, Joshua DeVaney, and one of the Tommys even (Tom Whittker). They weren’t in the mall. As far as he knew, they were enjoying the 4th like everyone else. 

Hell, there was Rhonda Langley who sat behind him in Mrs. O'Connor's American Lit class last year and used to volunteer at the hospital because she wanted to be a nurse (god, she would _not stop talking_ about how she wanted to be a nurse), except she doesn’t anymore because she’s fucking _dead_ and there were other nurses at the hospital who _died_ and- ugh. Nope. Rabbit hole. Nothing ever good came from Tommy H thinking long and hard about depressing shit like that. 

People were just gone and life in Hawkins went the fuck on. _Apparently_.

It was the fact that no one in Hawkins was willing to discuss out loud what had happened (or how or why) that had driven Tommy H up the wall for the remainder of the summer. He had heard some closet theories, some outlandish theories, some especially stupid ones that he figured some elementary school brats imagined up. All whispered, underneath the breaths of strangers, behind closed doors. Carol had even talked to him about it (she was really the only person willing to say to his face how weird it all was). As soon as you wanted to go in depth in regular conversation, you had already passed some unseen line. The first day of college couldn’t have come soon enough.

Leave it to a small town to make a whole thing about, say, the McDuffie twins vomiting on the Mayor and still joke about it in conversation ten years later, but as soon as some actually crazy shit happened, that’s when their lips were sealed. Fucking _fantastic_.

But he couldn’t help wanting to understand what had all gone down. Fuck Steve Harrington, but if the fucker was involved, the last thing Tommy H would want is for him to get hurt.

“You know,” Marnie returned, gesturing her spotted hand around the room. There it was again with the not saying anything. 

“Yeah okay,” Tommy H said. “Forget it.” He began to walk away.

“Take the magazine!” Marnie barked. 

“I don’t need the fucking magazine,” Tommy H replied, grabbing the magazine anyway. “Have a holly jolly Christmas, Marns.”

Tommy H could feel her scowl burning into his back. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

“Old hag,” Tommy H muttered, but thankful for the needed normalcy. He braced himself for the cold air and opened the door. The heavy bags of food and drinks dug into the sleeves of his wool coat. The snow seemed to be falling thicker now and he watched his breath turn white before his eyes. 

As he placed the bags and the magazine inside the car, the sound of coughing caught his attention, and he turned towards the direction of a figure across the street.

Even from this distance, he could see Steve Harrington. He was leaning against Adam McAdam’s bookstore, face pale and hair as big as ever. Wearing nothing but a long sleeve shirt and jeans, he was bound to catch a hell of a cold out here. Not that he cared.

Tommy H slammed the trunk, shaking his head, incredulous. Because one of the first people he needed to see once he got back home was fucking Steve Harrington. Asshole.

“Hey, asshole!” Tommy H called out, his mouth thinking faster than his brain.

If Steve heard, he didn’t show it. Instead he began to slide down the side of the building, curling into himself until you couldn’t even see his stupid face. Just his stupid hair.

Tommy H frowned, tapping his fingers against his front door. Sure, he could go ask Steve what was up (it’s not like he wasn’t concerned; the guy wasn’t dressed for the weather and it was snowing outside and clearly he was in a bad place), but half of him didn’t care. That was a lie. He didn’t want to care. There was no rule book for ex friends and that wound still hurt and he didn’t wanna go picking at it. He and Steve (and Carol) as a trio were over. Through. Done deal. Steve Harrington could go fuck himself. He made a move to the door to the driver seat.

Suddenly, Steve uncurled himself and leaned over to his side, making a retching sound before vomiting up all sorts of gross colors.

“Steve,” Tommy H breathed, feeling his face fall. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he muttered, half-walking, half-running to where Steve was sitting. Or leaning. It seemed a blend of both.

Steve mumbled something, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand. 

“Harrington?” Tommy H said, crouching down in front of Steve’s face. He snapped his fingers in front of his eyes in order to catch his attention. “Anyone alive up there?”

Steve blinked furiously for a few seconds before focusing on Tommy H’s face. The dazed look on his face morphed into one of confusion. “Tommy H? Uh, hi. Hey, Tommy H. What are you doing here?”

“Fuck you, that’s what I’m doing here,” Tommy H replied on instinct. He hated every moment of this. He hated being so close to his former friend, knowing inside that their worlds were light years apart. It was unbearable. “Can you stand?”

Steve wobbly got to his feet, with Tommy H’s help. He seemed worryingly light and ended up leaning very close to Tommy H.

“You drunk,” Tommy H asked, because how far down had King Steve stumbled.

“Not drunk,” Steve groaned. “Nightmare. Got nauseous Got, uh. Hmm. Got lost.”

“Well, don’t barf on my coat, Harrington,” Tommy H ordered, trying to make sense of what Steve had said. “Or I’ll leave you here.”

He wouldn’t.

“If I barf on your coat,” Steve began, his voice quiet and scratchy. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

He would.

“Fucking rich kids,” Tommy H muttered. He made the slow walk back to his car, doing his best to keep Steve upright and moving forward. He hated every moment of this.

It didn’t stop his heart from beating at double speed every time he looked at him.

* * *

Tommy H liked Steve. More than liked. _Like_ liked. And that’s what probably made the whole friendship breakup harder.

Because, of course, he missed their friendship. Tommy H didn’t remember much of his life from when he was seven; for all he could tell, there was nothing of any significance before Steve. Even before they ruled Hawkins High, he remembered spending weekends at Steve’s massive house, creating blanket canopies and enacting imaginary wars. So often, they’d stuff their faces with junk food from Burger Chef (until, that was, Carol became the newest member and insisted on healthy foods every once in a while). He missed having long rides to nowhere in Steve’s car, not concerned with the destination as they were with the journey. He missed making fun of Steve and Carol sprucing up in the mirror before getting ready for the day.

But, he also _liked_ him. He liked the way his nose wrinkled when he laughed and he liked how excited he got over sports. He liked the smile he’d get when he was seconds away from spilling the latest scandalous news, how one corner of his lips would creep higher to the left. He liked that he was open to any kind of food, even sour and spicy at the same time. He liked how, whenever Tommy H was sick from school, he’d skip school with Carol to come and spend time with him. He liked how, if Tommy H was being stubborn and came to school anyway, Steve would declare a skip day and drag his ass back home, like the mom he was, before putting the TV on. He liked the way his eyes lit up when he was talking about the latest Bowie song, or something. 

And he liked, his stupid, _stupid_ hair. 

Obviously, he couldn’t tell anyone. Half the time, he hated reminding himself of his being some flavor of queer. And he couldn’t ever, _ever_ , tell Steve. Hell, he couldn’t tell _anyone_ . What was he going to say? He thought some guys were just as easy on the eyes as chicks? That he spent countless hours thinking about Steve before eventually succumbing to sleep? He liked girls just fine, probably had a preference for girls overall, had _been_ with plenty of girls (even Carol, though they were strictly friends now). But, they weren’t Steve.

Steve must’ve left some impression deep in his subconscious because he’d start crushing on guys with big hair and big egos up in Chicago. But one thing or another would always glaringly remind him that they weren’t _Steve._

Then again.

It seemed like this Robin person (he remembered her now. High school wasn’t as repressed as he would’ve liked) really was just a friend. Also a lesbian.

“You okay, Dingus? I though you said you were going for a quick walk.” the wild-haired brunette asked, helping Steve inside her house (who still didn’t seem steady enough on his own two feet). She was dressed as if she had just woken up (which was weird, in Tommy H’s opinion, because it was barely ten o’clock). 

“Went off course,” Steve said.

Tommy H took notice of the “different” kids in Hawkins High. At first, it was more of a mean-spirited curiosity, figuring out who the oddballs were and pressing their insecure buttons. It slowly graduated, however, into investigating a very particular crowd of people (although, it was less a crowd and more a smattering). As his unnatural infatuation with Steve grew, the more he began to quietly seek out others who may have the same inclinations. So, with questions here and threats there, he learned about the queers on campus: James Jones, Cary Barnes, Howardina Crawford.

Robin Buckley.

_Tommy Hagan._

There were far more queers in Chicago, bars and villages and activist groups who insisted people “Act Up”, but Tommy H was perfectly fine not venturing out. He had no idea what he’d find out if he ventured into the unknown.

Steve mumbled out something in response as he stumbled onward into the house. Robin helped him into a seated position on the beige carpeted stairs directly across the front door before saying something about making hot chocolate and running in a different direction.

Tommy H figured it’d be somewhat irresponsible to leave Steve by himself while Robin was off doing whatever. He gently closed the door behind him, feeling that Robin wouldn’t be fond of snow flying into the house. And someone ought to watch him in case he barfed all over the carpet stairs. Takes an annoyingly long time to get that shit out and, for all he knew, Mr. and Mrs. Buckley were probably nice suburban people.

He walked next to Steve. He thought about how awkward everything was now. He considered the time and if his mother would be concerned.

“I’m just gonna,” he started.

Steve mumbled a response he didn’t quite catch.

Tommy H kicked his shoes off near the door before walking towards the kitchen. He may not be on good terms with Robin (or _any_ terms), but he could hear his parents in his ear telling him not to wear shoes inside the house. 

Inside the bright yellow and pale orange kitchen, Robin was taking a mug out of a microwave filled with what looked like hot water. She opened a packet of hot chocolate mix and poured it inside the mug, using a spoon to stir it around once it emptied completely.

“You don’t use milk?” Tommy H, in a weak attempt to make conversation. The kitchen was connected to the living room further down. The walls were covered up and down with family photos of Robin, her parents, and what looked like older twin siblings. Along with the photographs were paintings, some looking like they were done by children and others looking professional. He leaned against a counter, glancing at the rows of open Happy Thanksgiving greeting cards. Loopy signatures and apparent inside jokes were scribbled all over the insides. The Buckley household looked like a happy one. What he’d seen of Robin so far gave off the impression that she was a nice girl, and if Steve _had_ to ditch Tommy H and Carol, maybe it was okay if he found a friend in her.

“We’re out of milk.” Robin finished stirring. She had bags below her eyes, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. Even though she clearly had bedhead and was wearing a nightgown. “You’re Tommy H, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tommy H confirmed.

“I remember you being an asshole.”

“I don't remember you at all,” Tommy H lied. “How do you know Steve?”

Robin held the mug with both hands, feet turned towards the direction of the front door where Steve was waiting. “Stuff and things.”

“ _Stuff and things_ ,” Tommy H mocked. “Whatever. Can I use your phone?”

Robin was already walking and raised one hand behind her in a gesture that loosely translated to “Sure”, like she could care less what Tommy H did.

Tommy H made his way towards the landline and began dialing his home number. He was determined to leave only after getting answers. Until then, he was in a hell of a detour.

* * *

“So, what happened on the 4th?” Tommy H asked when he was back at the stairs. His conversation with his mother was tiring, and there was lots of yelling. But in a loving way. Yes, he was sorry for being late. No, this wasn’t going to happen again. _No_ , there really didn’t need to be any Christmas gift returns. 

“What?” Robin feigned confusion. She was seated on the stairs next to Steve. Sometime between giving Steve the hot chocolate and Tommy H having a conversation with his mom, she had found a thick blanket to wrap around his former friend.

“I’m observant,” Tommy H stated, shoving his arms in his coat pockets. “I don’t know much about you, but Steve’s little kid buddies don’t know how to use their inside voices.”

“What are you talking about, Tommy H?” Steve asked, looking guarded. He looked tired, but he was losing his touch. It was obvious he was hiding something and, maybe he felt Tommy H didn’t deserve to be in the know, but it was Tommy H’s town too. His family lived in Hawkins. Carol lived in Hawkins, even if it wasn’t gonna be forever. Steve lived in Hawkins. He deserved to _fucking know_ what was going on _in Hawkins._

“Everyone knows about the Byers kid coming back to life. That’s old news. But what about some homeless kid a few years back shattering the glass doors at the Big Buy without touching ’em? Or all the pumpkins dying last year? That was freaky. Or how your friend with the gross teeth was _not-whispering_ in the diner about dogs that had faces that opened up like,” Tommy H used his hands to demonstrate his face peeling open, or as best as he could. “Like a banana peel or something.”

“Shut up about Dustin,” Steve said. 

“ _Dustin_ , huh?” Tommy H said. “What’re you gonna do? Barf on me?”

Robin opened her mouth to speak.

“I’m not done,” Tommy H interrupted before she could say anything. “Then there’s the 4th of July and the mall _fucking explodes_ . And everyone knows someone who went missing. Hawkins isn’t that big. And there’s some freaky Chernobyl shit happening, _apparently_. It killed Wheeler’s fat friend.”

“Don’t say that about Barb,” Steve argued. “You didn’t know her.”

“Since when did you? And everyone thinks it’s one thing or another thing, like devil worshippers or alien abductions, both that you shot down by the way, and _no one_ wants to fucking talk about it. But you,” he pointed at Steve’s pale face, who flinched. Tommy H didn’t like that. Lowering his voice, he kept going. “You always seem to be involved one way or another. Always in the vicinity. And it’s driving me insane trying to figure out the why.”

“The why,” Steve repeated.

“ _Why_ are you always involved?” Tommy H asked. He felt his throat tightening and his eyes stinging. “You’re always getting hurt, and I can’t ask you about it because you fucked off and fucked Nancy. Who cheated on you, by the way. Or you’re just okay with that?”

“This isn’t about Nancy-” Steve began, loudly.

“Damn right, it isn’t about Nancy.” Tommy H yelled. “This is about _you._ Just tell me what’s going on so I’m able to sleep at night, you selfish-”

“Okay!” Robin raised her voice as well. “You are _so_ lucky I’m home alone tonight. You’re loud enough to wake the dead.” She rubbed her eyes with her palms and groaned. “We’re not supposed to tell anyone.”

Tommy H scoffed. “What? Is it a matter of national security?”

“Yes,” Robin insisted. “It _is!"_

“Bull _shit._ ”

“It’s not safe,” Steve added. The hot chocolate and blanket combination appeared to be warming him up. “There’s tons of crazy shit out there and you’d be better off not knowing about it.”

Tommy H made the sign of the cross. “There. I’m safe. Spill it.”

“Tom-”

“I can do this all night..” He paused. “And you owe me.”

“What exactly do I owe you, Tommy H?”

_Where to start?_

“You ditched me and Carol for no good reason.”

“Nancy isn’t ‘no good reason’,” Steve said, defensive. “You don’t know her, or what she’s gone through. This ‘bullshit’ got Barb killed. Her friend. You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about”

“ _Fuck_ Nancy, man,” Tommy H. He was absolutely over this. “I’m talking _post_ Nancy.” Softly, he continued. “You never came back. After everything, you avoided us. You treated us like strangers.”

“Hey,” Steve said. He placed his half-finished mug of hot chocolate down on the hardwood floor at his feet. “You weren’t exactly being the most welcoming person out there, Mr. ‘Got ourselves a new keg king, Harrington.’”

“You got issues if you remember me saying that and I don’t remember saying that. That was a fucking year ago.”

You ditched me for fucking Billy.”

“You pissed me off. I’ll admit, I was being a dick. But credit where credit’s due, you ditched me first.”

Steve was quiet before replying. “I had a lot going on.”

“Clearly.” Tommy H cleared his throat. “Look, Steve, we were pals for ten years. You’d think that means something. We’ve got two separate lives now, I get that. The least you could do is tell me what’s going on with yours so I can move on with mine.”

Steve wrapped his blanket tighter around himself. He shared a look with Robin, some new friendship language that Tommy H couldn’t decipher. Robin made a look back and, in sync, the two looked at Steve. 

_God, that was creepy,_ Tommy H thought. _Did I ever do that?_

“You have to promise to not tell anyone about this.” Steve’s voice sounded so serious, it made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. The fingers in his coat pockets fidgeted with anticipation. “Alright?”

“I’m telling Carol,” Tommy H said, immediately, thinking nothing of it.

“What about ‘don’t tell anyone’ do you not understand, Doofus?” Robin asked, frowning.

“Believe it or not, Carol still cares about Steve,” Tommy H said, staring pointedly at Steve. “It wouldn’t be fair to keep her in the dark.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve accepted. Robin still looked upset by the whole prospect, but allowed it. For now, at least. “I’ve been having some really, really bad nightmares. I go for walks sometimes”

“Why do you get nightmares?” Tommy H asked.

“How do you expect me to tell you why if you keep butting in?” Steve asked, for a moment sounding like the Steve that Tommy H remembered.

Tommy H made a face, but decided to shut up for now. Steve opened his mouth to continue.

“It all started when Will went missing…”

* * *

Whatever Tommy H expected, it wasn’t _that._

“So, let me get this straight. There’s government experimentation.”

“Yeah.”

“And alien monsters that eat you alive.”

“Not really. Dustin calls them ‘extra-dimensional’.”

“And the weirdo’s kid brother got possessed?”

“Pretty much.” And after a shove from Robin, he added. “Jonathan’s not as much of a weirdo as he used to be.”

“And a girl who can move things with her mind.”

“Yeah, El.”

“Because of the government experimentation.”

“Well, shit, Tommy H, I think we covered that already.”

“And there were Soviet scientists in the mall?” he kept going.

“Yeah,” Steve answered, after the long back and forth. “And up until the torture, we were having a pretty good time.”

“We fell down an elevator shaft!” Robin added, with a look that screamed ‘It wasn’t that fun!’

“Eh, agree to disagree.”

“And if we’re talking about stuff that was pretty fun, how about getting high on Russian drugs?”

Steve chuckled at the memory. “No, no. You’re forgetting sneaking around the mall like we actually _were_ American spies. We probably looked like _idiots."_

“As opposed to usually?”

“You realize you just called yourself an idiot, right?”

The duo dissolved into laughter of their own, recalling what they had experienced. Here and there, they would pepper in jokes about what they had gone through. Dustin was mentioned a few times, as was another person named ‘Erica’, whoever she was. They didn’t explain. And Tommy H didn’t ask. There was a word that Steve said so simply, so matter-of-factly, that was bouncing around Tommy H’s head, and he _had_ to ask because what the _fuck?_

“Torture?” Tommy H muttered, feeling his heart sink.

The talking continued, oblivious to Tommy H’s growing distress. Because, what the fuck was Steve doing getting tortured by foreign nationals? Steve couldn’t fight to save his life. It was as much a fact as the sun being bright and snow being cold. Tommy H was always the fists of the operation, and had given Steve more than a few pointers in holding his own in a fight. They had their share of physical encounters (hell, their friendship ended with one). Maybe, he didn’t deserve to know what had gone down these past few years. But, he was feeling sick to the stomach. Sure, Steve may have blown him off, but what kind of person was Tommy H to not even try to make amends? Fuck Nancy. Fuck _everything_ . He should’ve gotten off his ass and done _something. Anything._ He should’ve been there. How could he have not _been there_.

“You got tortured?” Tommy H asked, louder this time.

“What?” Steve asked, ending his conversation with Robin mid-sentence. “Oh, uh, yeah.” His hands combed through his air. Maybe he realized how weird it was to fucking drop something like that and move on to joking around. “They were interrogating me, as one does. I was wearing this stupid fucking Scoops Ahoy sailors costume, y’know? And they kept asking me who I worked for. I kept saying ‘I work for Scoops Ahoy’, but they thought I was fucking with ‘em, about not being an American spy, so they gave me a concussion. And that was before that truth serum, and, hey, Tommy H?” Steve looked worried. “Are you okay?”

Tommy H was going to be sick.

He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to imagine (while also trying to keep himself from imagining) Steve in that situation. Was he alone? Was he with Robin? How hurt was he? And they were underground the mall the whole time? And he got tortured? Tortured.

The guilt was burning inside of him. He could remember Carol suggesting that they check up on him, after Starcourt went to pieces. After all, they hadn’t heard word of Steve, just that he wasn’t one of the officially missing. But Tommy H was stubborn (maybe more so than Carol) and didn’t want to apologize to Steve for kicking them to the curb. Look at how well _that_ turned out.

“Tommy H.” Steve’s voice was soft. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Tommy H humorlessly laughed. “Oh, yeah, five months after getting tortured by Russians and you’re ‘okay’.” At Steve’s silence, he continued. “ _That’s_ why you have the nightmares, right? Why you were outside?”

“Among other things. I’m,” Steve yawned. “I’m working through things.”

“Oh, sure. So’s my dad, with the night terrors and everything. Except he got out of Vietnam over a _decade_ ago and _still_ has problems.” The stinging in his eyes was coming back. “And now you have problems. And, and I wasn’t there for you.”

Tommy H looked from Steve to Robin and back to Steve. “At least you had someone there, but it’s _killing_ me knowing you went through all of this and I wasn’t _there_. I was there when you cracked your skull open after tripping over the bleachers. I was there whenever you _actually_ got in trouble with your parents. I was fucking there when you were crying over _this_ girl and _that_ girl. All stupid kid stuff. But when you get in some serious shi- _torture?_ And I _wasn’t there?_ ” He wasn’t crying. “What the _fuck? How?_ All because of that _bi-_ ”

“This isn’t about Nancy!”

“I fucking know that, Jesus _fucking_ Christ.” Tommy H _wasn’t_ crying. Steve’s face _wasn’t_ blurry. “I’m just wondering how something so stupid ruined us. I _missed you_. And it sucked.” Tommy H’s voice _didn’t_ crack. “But you? You got. You got tortured. My best friend got tortured and I wasn’t there. _Fuck_.”

Silence followed. Tommy H furiously rubbed at his eyes. A minute later, Robin was the first to speak.

“How about a truce?” she began. She gave Tommy H an odd look. “We can’t exactly change what happened two years ago, and you two have a _lot_ to work through. Just, I dunno, turn a new leaf. ”

 _Is it ever that easy?_ Tommy H wondered.

Tommy H looked up at the clock on the nearest wall and cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, sure. I’m sorry. How’s that sound?”

“Give me a ride home and I promise I’ll think about it.” Steve wore a small smile.

* * *

Carol took it all in stride. Russians underneath the mall, killer dogs from other dimensions, Steve’s new weird affinity with Dungeons and Dragons. She was just happy to get answers, finally. The only roadblock was that she refused to apologize until Steve apologized, and Steve didn’t want to apologize until Carol apologized, and the whole damn thing took until five days before Christmas to get figured the fuck out.

Tommy H wasn’t sure who to side with, in that respect. On the one hand, he remembered Carol bemoaning the Graduation Party That Wasn’t, something the three of them planned their freshman year. On the other hand, he could hardly wrap his head around everything Steve had gone through. It was evenly tied.

Robin was also turning out to be an interesting character of her own. Wild hair collected into a messy bun on the top of her head, she slid into the mustard booth where he was sitting and waiting for a coffee. He loved his family, he really did. Growing up being friends with a kid with a house that was empty 90% of the time made him appreciate his family more than anything. But there were way too many people in the Hagan house, not to mention cousins from out of town and a new dog (Tommy H was, admittedly, not a dog person). The noisiness had come to a head, and it wasn’t like the house had any coffee anyway.

Robin Buckley was dressed in a patchwork sweater that appeared two sizes too big. The red and pink top was Ugly Christmas themed, and it seemed like Robin had an endless supply of them. The damn thing was three dimensional, with cotton balls forming snowflakes in the front and back.

“Buckley?” Tommy H said. He wasn’t totally sure where he stood with the girl. On one hand, Steve trusted her. On the other hand, she was weird and looked like the kind of person who didn’t listen to the radio because the music wasn’t interesting enough. She was, apparently, the kind of person who actually enjoyed watching black and white movies. Even the silent ones.

Could be worse.

“You like Steven, right Doofus?” she began in lieu of a greeting.

That was another thing. Steve was ‘Dingus’, Tommy H was ‘Doofus’, and Carol (apparently, they were on terrible terms that began in a girl’s locker room back at Hawkins High) was ‘Ditz’. The nicknames were annoying, but he couldn’t think of one to label Robin with. And, if it was possible, ‘Dingus’ was said in a nice way? Somehow?

Could be worse.

“Sure, I like Steve.” Tommy H answered. He flipped idly through the somewhat sticky laminated diner menu. “Why?”

“No, I mean,” she lowered her voice. “You _like_ Steve, right?” 

Tommy H froze and stared at the girl who stared right back. He wasn’t fast enough to think of anything to say before Robin continued.

“I knew it,” Robin nodded. She rested her head on her hands. “And don’t worry about me, like, spilling it or anything. I’m cool enough to pick up on these vibes. James Jones, Cary Barnes, Howardina Crawford, me, you.” She listed them off with her fingers. “Etcetera, etcetera.”

“Where are you going with this, Buckley?” The coffee couldn’t come any sooner. He was attempting the whole friendship thing with Robin. It was hard because she was so … _her._ And that question so early had honestly thrown him for a loop he wasn’t ready for. But, somewhere inside he really did want a friend who just _got it_. Understood. There already didn’t seem to be that many queers to go around in this town. So, he’d keep trying.

“I’m going to help you Christmas shop. For Steve.” she clarified.

“Okay, what makes you think I haven’t done that already?”

“Because you haven’t,” Robin answered, like it was obvious. Was it obvious? It was true, but was it obvious? Fuck her. “And I know Christmas.”

“ _Everyone_ knows Christmas.”

“ _And_ I know shopping.” Robin continued. “Look at me.” She gestured at herself. “And look at you.” She pointed at herself. “Pizzazz. Classy. Fun.” She pointed at him. “Mundane. Drab. Monotonous.”

Tommy H was wearing a perfectly fine navy sweater, brown pants, and khaki jacket. 

“Don’t be fucking rude,” he said.

“What’s your damage? You have _no_ Christmas Spirit.”

“I have-”

“And the first step to solving your problem-”

“I don’t _have_ a problem, Buckley.”

“Is admitting you have a problem,” she finished.

He leaned over. “Can you let me talk!” Tommy H hissed, slapping the menu onto the white table. At that moment, a waitress came by with his coffee, greeting the two with a raised eyebrow and a rehearsed Christmas-themed marketing ploy to get them to try some of the newest desserts. Robin got suckered and ordered their “Chocolate Chip Eggnog Pancakes”.

“I have fucking Christmas Spirit,” he finished.

“And no Christmas gift.”

“I’m getting to that. It’s just…”

Robin waited, leaning over in clear anticipation.

“Steve “The King” Harrington,” he continued on, despite Robin’s snicker at the nickname. “Is a different person than Steve “I beat up monsters with a spiked baseball bat and sneak into fucking Russian military bases” Harrington.” The coffee mug warmed his hands. “I think about it too long and feel like I’m gonna go insane.”

Robin hmmed.

“Besides, Steve’s not a gift person. He gives gifts, I mean, but doesn’t like getting them, not really.” Clear as day, he could pinpoint the exact moment he realized how different Steve was from other kids at Hawkins Elementary. 

Steve’s first birthday party with Tommy H as a friend was a small affair. Brightly colored streamers hung around the large living room and confetti was sprinkled on the floor. They ate cupcakes and ice cream and opened an old chess set still in its original packaging, not even bothering to play actual chess with it.

In retrospect, the streamers had been obviously set up by someone of child height, the confetti was nothing but cut up construction paper, and the cupcakes tasted funny, as if Steve had tried out making them himself. They had fun, but the birthday paraphernalia was still there when Tommy H visited Steve’s house a few days later, and days after that. As if he were afraid to let the party end, as if a physical reminder of fun would stave off, for however, the all-encompassing feeling of being alone. 

Eight-year-old Steve’s eyes were absolutely crestfallen in the seconds between Tommy H waved goodbye and closed the door. Halfway through the car ride back to his house, he asked his parents to turn the car around just so Steve wouldn’t be alone in that big empty house. His parents explained that Steve had a bedtime, of course, and his family probably did things differently than the Hagan household. Tommy H didn’t understand how different a household could be that the Harrington’s couldn’t (or wouldn’t) make it to their kid’s birthday.

He figured it was the reason for the increasingly extravagant parties, whether they were made to host the student body or a couple of close friends. You don’t get more or less neglected by your parents and turn out well adjusted. Harrington blasted music, organized drinking games, and kept the festivities going early into the morning.

“It’s not about gifts,” Tommy H said, folding his fingers together. “Steve’s gotten plenty of gifts from his shit parents that meant jack since they were mailed in and not under a tree. Christmas shouldn’t be something we _give_ to him, it’s something we’d _bring_ to him. Like…” Tommy H to take a long drink from his coffee. 

_Oh-_

“Shit!” Tommy H slammed his mostly empty cup of coffee onto the table, making Robin jump back.

“Shit, _what?_ ” Robin demanded, before smiling and apologizing to the returned waitress who was looking more confused than the last time. “Thanks and Happy Holidays!” she called out once the waitress walked away. She turned back to Tommy H. “Elaborate.”

“Surprise Christmas party at Steve’s place,” Tommy H began, stealing one of Robin’s pancakes. He ignored Robin’s sputtered protest. “I’d have to find my old copy of his key. Unless they changed locks. Eh, they probably didn’t bother, or else we’d have to find some other way in.”

“That’s breaking and entering, Doofus,” Buckley said, grinning despite herself.

“I’m talking to someone who broke and entered into a fucking Russian military base.”

“Ssh!” Robin made a zipping motion with her fingers. “Plus, that was _entirely_ accidental,” Robin insisted.

Tommy H leaned back and made a face. “Was it?”

Robin decided to not answer that, opting instead to change the subject.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” she noted. “You care about Steve.”

And what a question that was. You didn’t have to be close to care about someone. You didn’t have to even like someone to care about them (he cared enough about his teachers at Hawkins High not getting sick because the substitutes were such hard asses). He cared about his family, learned to appreciate them a lot more considering he could’ve been unlucky enough to have the Harringtons not-raising him. He cared about Carol because, for the past few years, they were all that remained of a trio of best friends and what was he going to do if he lost her too? He was even beginning to care about Robin, which initially began because she was important to Steve, but was slowly growing into a friendship, albeit a weird one, of its own. But Steve?

For Steve, he would steal the stars from the sky and fill his bedroom with them if it meant Steve would never jump at another shadow. He would make a fool of himself every day if it meant Steve would laugh. He would take the fall for him to save him from any future pain because hadn’t he gone through enough? Did that make him gay?

 _I don’t know what I_ wouldn’t _do._

“Yeah,” he whispered, feeling his face grow hot. “I… _yeah.”_

Robin smiled like she understood. He had more freckles than skin, but they were never enough to hide his blushing. “Well, we should probably start planning. What colors are more Christmas-y? Red and green or blue and yellow?”

Tommy H scarfed down half a slice of the pancake. It didn’t taste half bad and he had reached his weekly limit of heartfelt sentiments. He knew that his ears were still red, which was fucking embarrassing. “Who the fuck ever said blue and yellow were Christmas colors?”

“They’re winter colors.”

“That’s not the same thing, Buckley.”

* * *

After the success of the surprise Christmas party, Tommy H figured he deserved a Friend of the Year award.

Also, this marked the first and the last time he would ever willingly work with children. Never, _ever_ , again.

Steve was like their den mother, for some reason. Dustin, the bigger kid with the, um, _interesting_ teeth, was the closest to Steve. Tommy H considered it a sign of his growing maturity that he kept his comments to himself. It was a reality check he had gotten in college; high school jocks had no dominion anywhere outside of the reach of their high school. In Chicago, he was just another freshman in a sea of freshmen. Being a prick did him no favors in his first semester at UIC, and even jocks needed good grades so they wouldn’t get kicked out and, consequently, disappoint his parents. Through trial and error, he, for lack of better words, became less of a dick. It was annoying, sometimes, but apparently you’re a better person for not saying the first thing that comes to your head.

And this Dustin kid mattered to Steve, and Steve mattered to Dustin, so it’d be ill-advised to fuck this up.

After the initial meeting at the Henderson household (he would later learn that the Wheeler kid didn’t want Tommy H at his house, Mrs. Sinclair was going mad with holiday power, and no one ever went to the Hargrove-Mayfield house). Dustin introduced him to members of "the party": Mike Wheeler (who he was already aware of), Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield, kid sister of the recently departed Billy Hargrove.

“What about the Byers kid? And the witch?” he’d asked, before the Wheeler kid practically transformed into a bulldog and started angrily telling Tommy H off for calling her a witch (Tommy H couldn’t figure out why it was interpreted as rude. From what he'd understood from Steve, these kids were supposed to be all over this fantasy nerd shit. Wasn’t witch a compliment to them?). Tommy H then learned about where they had gone (and the tragedy that had befallen the cop). Kinda put a damper on his plans, wanting Steve to have everyone there.

“They’ll call in,” Dustin had assured him. “It’s not like it’s long distance or anything.”

So, the plan was underway.

Max assumed control of anything food and snack related, declaring herself the only decent cook among “the party” (whatever that nerd lingo meant). Lucas (and later his younger sister Erica, the other person that Steve had originally mentioned) volunteered to do decorations (“I bet you don’t even know what color theory means,” Erica had said), Dustin was in charge of the music (“Believe me,” he’d said, “Steve and I have the best taste in music.”, which was incorrect because Steve thought Air Supply made good music and Dustin liked listening to songs like “Another One Rides the Bus”), and Mike was, what he had called himself, “Chief Supervisor”. Tommy H felt it was just an excuse for the kid to keep an eye on him. Tommy H was under the impression that the Wheeler didn’t really care for Steve (and with Nancy as his older sister, he could believe it), but it seemed like he respected him more than he would actually admit. He at least respected him enough to eye Tommy H like a hawk.

They probably knew about the whole beating-Steve-up thing. Steve was no stranger to getting his ass handed to him, especially by Tommy H. The only difference is that they’d move on and joke about it later. It didn’t work out the last time, but maybe this would be a step towards making up for it.

Robin was in charge of keeping Steve distracted. Whether that meant roping him into doing extra shifts at the video store or having sleepovers or hanging out at the Christmas Tree Farm further north (Carol tagged along with them for that. She was, of course, in the know about the surprise party, and was there to keep Steve in the dark if Robin had any other responsibilities).

“Since when did Carol get a perm?” Steve had asked him later that same day.

“College changes a woman,” Tommy H had replied. “She looks like she walked into an electric fence. Don’t tell her I said that.”

It was hard cutting down an evergreen with loud-ass bossy kids Christmas Eve Eve, but they had gotten the tree inside the Harrington home and decorated it under the watchful (and critical) eye of Lucas. Sparkly red, green, and gold tinsel covered almost every surface and hand-cut snowflakes hung from the grand staircase and ceiling fan. Unlit red and white candles were placed in front of the house’s many windows (“No, we’re not lighting them. Do you wanna burn the house down?”) They fixated wreaths upon the doors, hung up stockings with everyone’s names on it (even the people who wouldn’t physically be there), and stuck foam gingerbread men and snowmen on the walls. To Lucas’s dismay, Dustin and Max went crazy with the Christmas lights and Mike complained that it looked tacky.

Tommy H was as surprised as anyone when Nancy showed up early Christmas Eve with ropes of Christmas lights hanging over her shoulders and dragging a ladder from a car. She ignored Tommy H as she began the arduous task of hanging lights around the household exterior, and Tommy H ignored her right back. They both had their reasons for doing this. They didn’t have to like each other.

That was probably a bridge to cross at another time. If ever.

Max had cookies prepared on Christmas Eve. Dozens upon dozens of cookies. She had maple syrup candy and peppermint bark. There was a pumpkin pie, cheese balls, and pigs in a blanket. Also a cake, which made no sense.There was no way she did that all by herself, no matter what she claimed.

“Who eats a cake on Christmas?” Lucas had asked the ginger.

“Some people eat _bizcocho_. Sponge cake,” Tommy H had said, dialing Carol’s number. “Not that that’s what she made.”

“It’s God’s birthday. Hence the birthday cake,” Max answered Lucas.

“Seriously?”

Max crossed her arms. “It’s mint chocolate.”

“Still a cake,” Lucas agreed.

“Would you like me to make fruitcake?” Max raised her eyebrows and smiled innocently.

Fuck that.

In the few hours before Steve was due to be back home (and Tommy H was due to return to prepare), his mother shoved a container holding fresh-out-the-oven _bizcocho_ , white glaze drizzled all over the top. After placing the cake in the car carefully, his mother called him back over the sounds of his drunk uncles and aunts singing Spanish carols inside. She was holding Tupperware filled with something else.

“ _Es nacatamal._ ” She handed Tommy H the Tupperware. “For Steve. We’ll all come over later.”

“Thanks, mom,” Tommy H said. After all, Tommy H could count on his hands how many Christmases Steve spent with the Hagans (or even the Perkins) if his parents weren’t there. The fact that he could count any at all didn’t reflect well on the Harringtons. “He’ll love it.”

“ _Y deséale una feliz navidad!_ ”

“I will.”

He did.

Heck, Dustin timed the cassette player to start booming “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as soon as Steve opened the door. And Tommy H would’ve killed to see Steve’s reaction to the blinking lightshow wrapped around his house when he returned to his house with Robin and Carol who kept him away all day.

Frankly, the look on Steve’s face when he opened the door was priceless.

There were screams of “Merry Christmas!” and off tune singing, and Mike’s threatening to cut the first slice of the chocolate cake. There was hugging and laughing and the crooning sound of Andy Williams filling the house.Lucas, the junior interior designer, had the food arranged on red plates (where had he gotten red plates?) and Tommy H only just realized that someone really did light up the candles. Hopefully the house didn’t burn down.

It was chaos in the best way. Someone turned on the TV and it was playing one of those stop motion Rankin/Bass Christmas movies. Robin tore open the present she had gotten for Steve because he was “taking too long, Dingus”, and Steve was hurried into the bathroom to change out of his green sweater into one of Robin’s three-dimensional monstrosities (it had the face of the gay elf from Rudolph on it, along with bells that actually jingled when Steve moved).

“I didn’t know the elf was gay!” Robin whispered when Tommy H informed her of a _well-known fact_ in the brief moments they were alone in the kitchen.

“Everyone knows that elf is gay!” Tommy H whispered back, shoving a slice of _bizcocho_ into his mouth. He continued talking while he chewed. “Why do you think he said he’s a misfit?”

“Because Rudolph also sang the misfit song and he liked that girl reindeer.”

“So?” Tommy H was undeterred. “Rudolph’s gay too.”

People rotated in and out of the house. The Wheeler parents peeked inside, leaving almost as soon as they came. Dustin’s mom came and decided to stay. The Sinclairs were hosting family from out of state, so they didn’t visit for long, but Erica chose to stay with her brother. Carol’s parents looked elated to see Steve; Mrs. Perkins pinched his cheeks and everything, demanding he catch them up since they hadn’t heard from him “in so long”. As promised, Tommy H’s parents, and siblings (and cousins and aunts and uncles) passed through, livening up the place in only the way his mom’s side of the family was capable of doing (Tommy H’s mom seemed pleased with how torn up her food contribution was). 

Even the Byers called in. Outside of Carol, Robin, and Tommy H, it seemed like everyone was clamoring to get a turn to talk with them.

“What’d they say?” Tommy H asked Steve, after he got off the phone.

“Joyce wished me a Merry Belated Hanukkah and told me to stay warm. Will and El wanted to talk to the party. Jonathan _really_ wanted to talk to Nancy.” It was snowing outside, but watching Steve smile was like witnessing spring in full bloom. What was it about liking someone that made you think poetic shit? “You know how it goes.”

He didn’t. “Yeah, sure.” He held up a red plate of frosted sugar cookies. “I didn’t make these, so they’re safe.”

“God, remember when Tommy H poisoned us on my birthday?” Carol began, walking up to them, frizzy red hair and all. She was holding a green bean casserole that her parents dropped off. “I couldn’t even _look_ at apples for a year without puking.”

“It wasn’t that bad. Fuck you, Carol.”

“Who poisoned who?” Robin asked. She wore a Christmas tree sweater that stuck out in all directions, like an actual fucking Christmas tree.

“Tommy H tried to kill us when we were twelve,” Steve started, sugar cookie in hand. His eyes were bright. Tommy H hadn’t realized how much he missed that.

“So now I tried to kill you? What about the time when-”

And so the celebration continued. Something called “The Night They Saved Christmas” and an action movie were being flicked back and forth because some of the kids were over watching Christmas movies, while others insisted you _had_ to watch Christmas movies on Christmas. “Do They Know It’s Christmas” was playing from Dustin’s carefully curated playlist, and Carol said she “loved this song” at the same time Robin said she “hated this song”. Mike seemed to be hogging the phone, pacing back and forth while sucking on a candy cane, before wearing a grand smile and shouting "They’re coming!". Erica slapped a Santa hat on Tommy H’s head with an order to be “festive, or else”, leaving the “or else” up to interpretation. Lucas was doing the moonwalk to Hall and Oates’s “Jingle Bell Rock” in response to Max’s dare that he couldn’t do the moonwalk to a Christmas song.

Once the digital clock hit 12 in the am, there was a mad dash for the Christmas tree. The presents weren’t just for Steve- there were presents for, and from, everyone. Nerd shit for the kids, wearable art projects (obviously, from Robin), mixtapes (from Dustin), fuzzy customized socks (from Max and Lucas), more nerd shit (books this time), shirts with good bands on the front (Tommy H got those), shirts with fantasy nerd shit on the front (Mrs. Henderson looked responsible for those), homemade slap bracelets (from Carol), and many more. Steve opened a gift Tommy H got him that was nothing but an empty cardboard box, and laughed with Carol and Tommy H at the inside joke with origins so old they couldn’t even remember why it was funny, just that it was.

It was miles and beyond better than anything Tommy H could’ve hoped for.

As the party began to die down, the Wheelers made their goodbyes first (Steve and Nancy shared a funny looking hug). The Sinclairs left next, Max in tow. Dustin convinced his mom to let him stay the night. Eventually, it was just him, Robin, Carol, and Tommy H that remained.

They cleaned to the sounds of the Carpenters, though there wasn’t much to clear away because apparently the kids knew how to clean after themselves better than all the high school party goers that came and went years before.

“I’d love to say that I can’t believe you not only broke into my house, but managed to convince everyone else to break in too,” Steve began, gathering up wrapping paper. Dustin was curled up on the leather couch, snoring loudly even though he swore up and down he’d help clean. “But who’m I kidding?”

“What’s a little petty crime between friends?” Tommy H grinned, helping him clear everything up. 

Steve laughed and they continued to clean. For the first time since this all began, the silence between them was comforting rather than awkward.

“Hey, Steve?” he asked once they’d finished cleaning. It was the early morning, but he still didn’t feel tired. In fact, he was starting up the VCR to play a copy of “It’s a Wonderful Life” that had been recorded from it’s broadcast years before. He could hear Carol and Robin talking in the kitchen, probably helping themselves to the cookies. He was happy Carol was actually eating the sweets, since she’d gone a few years foregoing anything with excess sugar. People changed.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, actually looking tired. But, stubborn as he was, he was going to hold off sleep for as long as he could stand.

“You still think we can start over?” 

“Shit, Tommy H, after all this?” He raised his hands, waving at the decorations. “After a _Christmas_ like this? And you planned it? I could kiss you.”

Not that there was any alcohol content in the drinks (“It’s gonna stay kid friendly, Carol, because of the _kids,_ ” he’d said), but Tommy H was just about drunk on happiness. Hoping he wouldn’t regret it, he said, “Promise, Harrington?”

“Promi- _Robin!_ ” Steve called, twisting over on the couch. “Robin, where’s the mistletoe? I know there’s mistletoe!”

Rather than answer, Robin pitched a branch of synthetic mistletoe from the dollar store. Steve caught it one hand and turned to Tommy H’s direction, who had been idly fiddling with the TV volume.

“So, do I have to go over there, or are you coming over here?” he asked, with his $10,000 smile.

His lips were soft and warm and, frankly, what’s a little kissing between friends?

* * *

Steve Harrington was more than a little different these days, but so was Tommy H. No one stayed the same after high school.

Tommy H liked to think he was less of an ass these days. It wasn’t like flipping a switch; he had to work on fixing his attitude every day. He had to talk things through before throwing a fist. 

Steve also had newer quirks. His breath would quicken if lights started flickering. He couldn’t stand not being able to see where loud sounds were coming from. He didn’t drink as often because, as funny as the whole getting-high-on-Russian-drugs incident was, he hated quite a lot of the memories attached to that (and anything that made his perception go sideways was a no go). He was always concerned with where his friends (that included Tommy H these days) were and if they had gotten where they needed to go safely. 

When the Byers, Joyce and Jonathan and Will and El, had come over on Christmas Day as promised, he had presents gift wrapped for them, insisting that he wasn’t going to leave them out of the gift-giving season just because they technically didn’t celebrate it. 

Not that Tommy H could understand giving a gift to a guy who took creepy pictures of his then-girlfriend, but Steve was a better person than him.

Steve’s heart just seemed to be a lot bigger than it had ever been. Carol considered it a cause for concern.

“Bigger heart means a bigger target,” she said over the phone.” Tommy H couldn’t agree more.

For now, however, he’d just do his part in guarding it. Even if that meant staying the night or talking with the chronic insomniac until the early hours of the morning. 

“That’s not sustainable,” Steve had told him, an early January morning. The two of them had finished stuffing Tommy H’s car full of his belongings for the drive back to Chicago. It had snowed another inch over night and mounds of blinding white covered everything. Carol and Robin had some earlier heart-to-heart before Carol drove back to her college with a promise to “show her around sometime”. Steve was wearing his present from Robin and even Tommy H had on his own, a green and blue sweater with the face of the Snow Miser, hidden discreetly under his coat (“Look,” he’d unbuttoned his coat to show Robin. “I’m wearing it. Happy?”)

“It doesn’t have to be,” Tommy H said, slamming the trunk close. “If I’m not available, you call Carol or Robin or Dustin or whoever.”

“That’s not the point,” Steve said. “I’m almost twenty. I should be able to sleep on my own. I’m not six. I shouldn’t be burdening all of you with my shitty sleep schedule”

Tommy H looked at Steve. The guy was ever evolving. All the changes besides, even the eye bags that he’d first seen on his return to Hawkins had diminished. He wasn’t as pale. Tommy H wasn’t trying to toot his own horn (he was), but perhaps Steve missed their friendship just as much as Tommy H had. 

And that’s what it was now, a friendship. It wasn’t like the Christmas kiss changed anything. He was still 90 percent sure Steve was straight. Robin was 80 percent sure. Maybe Steve was just that confident in his sexuality that he could kiss guy friends.

Well. Tommy H could dream. And, _boy_ , did he dream.

“You’re a little crazy, Harrington, but you’re not a burden.” Tommy H shrugged. “My dad’s crazier than you, but he’s not a burden. It’d be crazy if you dealt with all of that and didn’t come out a little crazy.”

Steve snorted.

“Forgive the corniness, but it’s what friends _do._ ” God, it felt good saying that. “They help their friends. No matter what.”

“No matter what?” Steve smirked.

“Don’t push it.”

“So if I killed a guy-” Steve began.

“I’d help you hide the body. Simple as.” he looked down at his watch. “And with that being said, I better go. Traffic’s gonna be a bitch and a half.”

“You haven’t even told me what you’re studying at UIC,” Steve said.

“C’mon, Harrington, this is me we’re talking about.” Tommy H opened the door to his car and headed in. Rolling down the window, he continued. “I’m undecided as fuck.” He and Steve waved each other goodbye as Tommy H pulled out of the parking lot.

He turned the radio on as he hit the road. Frowning at the sappy broken-hearted love song, he browsed the stations. Leaving the radio alone while he merged onto a lane, he heard the tell-tale notes of Air Supply.

_“But I'm never gonna make it without you. Do you really want to see me crawl?”_

“Fucking Air Supply,” Tommy H said, smiling despite himself. He made no move to change the station.

_“And I'm never gonna make it like you do. Making looooove out of nothing at all.”_

**Author's Note:**

> twitter . com / cahmontemor / status / 1194638446465355776 (like, c'mon)
> 
> drop a review if you enjoyed this and stay safe out there!


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